chasing dusk
by rose-mallow
Summary: they would forget where their loyalties lay for the night. — D/Hr


Bear with me please; this is my first-ever attempt at a Harry Potter fic.

I know it's very cliché, but Hermione and Draco are both Heads, so they're both in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. I'm basically ignoring the events of HBP as I write this. It's also slightly AU, though I did try to keep all the characters, well, in character.

**Disclaimer:** Unless the tooth fairy heard my five-cent wish last night, I can't possibly be J.K. Rowling. But then again, the tooth fairy doesn't even exist.

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_Not again…_

She was staring again for perhaps the umpteenth time this week - staring at Draco Malfoy. Even though she tried to look at him in an unnoticeable way, or not look at all, she found it quite difficult to do so. She was supposed to hate him; he was the arrogant, stuck-up Slytherin Prince. Yes. She _did_ hate him, and felt glad for it.

But that didn't mean he was _her_ sworn enemy. Malfoy only abhorred her because she was one of Harry Potter's best friends. After all, he hated everybody who was "Potty's" ally.

Scratch that. Hermione bit her lower lip, shaking her head as her curly chocolate tresses fell to frame the warmth of her face. She knew that he also hated her because she was a Muggleborn, or as he liked to put it, a "filthy Mudblood." How she wanted to strangle him when he said that. It hurt her pride more than it angered her. And lord, pride was the only thing that kept her standing to this day.

Well, sitting for now, as she was sitting for dinner at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

Still, she just couldn't stop staring. It almost scared her out of her wits when she realized that she sort of _admired_ the way he looked. But then again, that was all of Hogwarts' girls for you. They were all sickeningly obsessed with him, all because of his looks. Hermione scowled. Why couldn't any of them truly like a person for who they were, not what they looked like?

Hermione knew thinking this would only make her a hypocrite as she gazed on at Malfoy. She had to admit, she loved the way his sleek white-blonde hair fell into his stormy grey eyes.

_His stormy grey eyes._ Those eyes of his seemed to speak for him in a language different from the one he knew and spoke. Whenever he was upset (which seemed to be most of the time), anger danced like cold liquid fire within his pupils. When he was seldom truly happy, his eyes twinkled like twin stars with laughter.

_That includes whenever he's busy mocking_ _me or Ron or Harry or anyone like that._

Hermione shoved away the growing uneasiness that grew inside her heart. What on earth was this feeling? She'd told herself time and time again that this growing admiration towards this boy couldn't possibly be what she feared it was. She assured herself that this strange feeling would soon come to pass, reiterating a soft "no" under her breath like her own calming mantra.

As much as she hated it, she knew this was no ordinary mood swing. His remarkable features were definitely worthy of praise.

Speaking of remarkable features, she'd almost forgotten to mention his perfect, porcelain skin.

Hermione had quite some ideas about what that horrible Lucius Malfoy would do to his only son if he were to ever disobey him. Would he use an Unforgivable upon him?

Hermione had absolutely no doubt that Lucius would do that and worse. She closed her eyes. It reminded her of… herself. _It's no surprise to me._

But if she were to ever see it happen… no, she didn't want to let it cross her mind. It would be the same as watching him shatter to pieces, literally. No one deserved that. Not even Malfoy. Hell, if Voldemort ordered him to _kill_ his son, he would do it. Chills went down her spine at the mere thought of this and she shivered as though a strong, sudden December gust had blown right into her face.

"You okay, 'Mione? I didn't think it was _that_ cold in here…" Ron's voice broke Hermione's train of thought. She turned and felt her churning insides warm over at the sight of the friendly face smiling at her.

"What? No, it's not that. I'm just… thinking." Hermione said.

"As usual! Honestly Hermione, you think too much." Ron grinned. "Maybe it's because you read too much. I reckon it's all going to your head." With that, Hermione found herself staring at the back of Ron's carrot head. She listened, feeling like an outsider as he resumed his discussion with Harry, Seamus, and the rest of the boys about Quidditch.

"Yeah, the Chudley Cannons are the best! Hey Harry, do you remember the hat you got for me on Christmas before?" Ron piped up enthusiastically.

"Pass the potatoes, Ron. And no, the Chudley Cannons are _not_ the best; the Montrose Magpies are…" replied another voice. Hermione frowned again. Was Quidditch all boys cared about? Slightly miffed, she sighed, propping her head up with her arms, and closed her eyes.

Why she was even thinking about Malfoy, she didn't know. Sometimes, she wondered what it would've been like if she were a Pureblood like Malfoy. Perhaps he would've respected her a bit more than he did currently, if even at all. But of course he didn't. To him, she was scum.

She opened her eyes and looked up from her full plate at Malfoy again, trying with all her might to think about anything else but him. She shrugged off the strange feeling that once again seemed to creep up from behind her shoulder, subconsciously blaming herself for criticizing someone she'd regrettably never gotten to know much at all.

_What if he wasn't such a bad person? Maybe he's just another object to be used and discarded by his manipulating father. Who knows he's putting up an act, strutting around like a stupid git all the time just to get on his father's good side?  
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_What if…_

Curiosity had always a funny subject. Hermione had to admit, no amount of reading could give her all the knowledge she wanted to know. If only she could read Malfoy's mind like an open book, then surely…

For one fleeting moment, Hermione thought Malfoy had caught her intently watching him. She quickly averted her eyes, turned to the boys, and pretended to be a part of their conversation. _Stupid me, _she berated herself, stamping her foot in irritation below the table. Instead, her knee hit the table with a dull thud. She hissed, cursing a blue streak in her head.

Unfortunately, it hadn't been Malfoy who had seen her. It was none other than Pansy Parkinson, who reminded Hermione unpleasantly of an unusually repulsive pug. Pansy, Hermione noticed, was holding on to Malfoy's arm.

"What the devil do you think you're looking at, you crazy Mud--?" Parkinson caught herself before she let the word fly; she knew better. She couldn't in the Great Hall, not with all the professors around. That was unless she discovered a sudden affinity for detention, but that obviously wasn't the case.

Pansy cleared her throat. "…Granger!" she finished, glaring at Hermione. Hermione determinedly glared back at the ugly witch.

"It's people like you, Granger, that give us wizards a bad name. You're not a Pureblood, let alone a Half-blood like Potty there! Even Weasel there is a pureblood. And _you_ call yourself a witch?"

Hermione's hand flew to her wand, but froze. _What am I thinking? I'm the Head Girl, for heaven's sake._

Merlin, this girl was pushing her luck too far.

Unfortunately for Hermione, the Great Hall was too loud for any of the professors to hear. So much for that detention. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Malfoy was smirking at her.

_Just relax, Hermione._

Wishing with all her heart that both idiots would just look away, Hermione snatched up her fork and began stabbing her chicken so violently that it had torn into strips.

At that instant, she wished this chicken was Pansy Parkinson.

Ron turned once again and put a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Don't listen to her, 'Mione. I swear, one of these days they'll all be as good as dead… all those stupid Slytherins." He too, stared down everyone at the Slytherin table. Hermione thought she heard an indistinct "ugly gits" coming from him. Next to him, Harry nodded. "No use in letting them get to you like that now. Once the War is over… they'll have learned their lessons for good – if any of them even make it out alive."

Hermione just smiled demurely and stayed silent. Although these two were like her brothers who were always there to watch out for her, she knew that there were more people who disliked her. Sometimes, she even felt as though she irked her fellow Gryffindors whenever she answered questions correctly. Whenever she acted like an "insufferable know-it-all."

…And that was most of the time. She shut her eyes tightly again, as if it would make the world melt away into nothingness around her.

She wondered what life would've been like if she never entered this realm of witchcraft and wizardry. What would life have had in store for her if she attended a regular Muggle school, just like Harry's oaf of a cousin, Dudley? One thing was for sure: She definitely wouldn't have been ridiculed, wouldn't have been loathed, and wouldn't have been so… so… _ashamed_ for being different. She would've had no trouble actually fitting in.

But that was a dream too far out of reach. To even go back home and live a normal life… that was exactly it. She was afraid to go back home. Home was where all of her fears lie in wait for her. Why did so many people have to hate her?

When Hermione finally reopened her eyes, she was mildly surprised to find a small puddle of water in her lap. She had been so immersed in her thoughts she hadn't even realized she'd been crying. She needed to leave, right now. Wiping her eyes furiously, she abruptly stood up and strode out of the Great Hall, hoping no one would question her. But—

"Oy, Hermione! Where're you going? Not the _library_ again?" Ron's voice called out. But she didn't respond as she continued walking away, leaving behind a very baffled Ron.

She trudged on aimlessly as the doors of the Great Hall echoed themselves shut behind her, unsure of where to go. She only wanted to be somewhere where she could be alone. She paused and brought a finger up to her lips, tapping softly, brows furrowed lightly in thought.

Then, with a warm smile, she started to run as fast as her legs could carry her, up the moving stairs to her final destination for the night.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, someone had been watching her. He'd watched her as she took every step, breathe every breath, and cry every tear. He'd studied her movements and features just as carefully as she'd studied his.

A tall, dark, hooded figure stepped out from the shadows, his mercurial eyes never leaving her.

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And remember, reviews would be strongly appreciated. ^_^


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